


Heaven Is A Place On Earth

by MenagerieOfDarkness



Series: Dean's Adventures in Heaven [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Dean Winchester, Car Sex, Come Inflation, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dean Winchester Loves The Impala, Dean Winchester's First Time With a Car, First Time, First Time Bottoming, Gay Panic, Heaven, Inflation, Not Beta Read, Other, Outdoor Sex, Pining, Post-Season/Series 15 Finale, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sentient Impala (Supernatural), Sex in/on the Impala (Supernatural), Sexual Tension, Sorry Not Sorry, Unresolved Sexual Tension, rough anal sex, small cock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:47:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27764722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MenagerieOfDarkness/pseuds/MenagerieOfDarkness
Summary: After spending 20 years in heaven, Dean begins to realize just how alone he feels. But, will he find comfort in a longtime friend?
Relationships: Impala/Dean Winchester
Series: Dean's Adventures in Heaven [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2064291
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	Heaven Is A Place On Earth

It was 2 am on a Wednesday when Dean realized that heaven wasn’t all it cracked up to be. After being impaled on a 4-inch rod — in a totally straight way, Dean insisted on telling everyone around him — and instantly dying of tetanus, he had been trapped in his own personal heaven, free to do whatever he desired until the end of time. Unfortunately, his brain prior to death had been so consumed with appearing as masculine as possible, that his personal paradise consisted of nothing but his parents, Bobby, his precious Impala, and hundreds of miles of dirt roads to drive on for hours at a time. At first, the feeling was like when he was alive: filled with a rush of adrenaline when he took a corner a little too fast and almost crashed his car, hints of danger when he took his alcoholism to the next level and drank copious amounts of beer while driving. But now, 20 years after entering heaven, he realized just how bored he was.

He set off long before the sun set, driving his baby to what felt like the ends of the earth. Dean was suddenly reminded of how lucky he was that ghost cars did not need gas to function because his brain had somehow forgotten to include any gas stations in his personal heaven. No matter how long or hard he drove the Impala, it never sputtered to a halt, nor did its tires pop or engine eject black smoke when he went a little too far. He wrapped his right hand around the passenger seat, turning his head like there would be someone next to him who was just as surprised, but, just as it had been for 20 years, there was no one there. But, that realization didn’t stop a single name from floating to the tip of his tongue, desperate to be released.

“Cas...”

Every couple of years, right when Dean thought it was safe to think about the angel without being overcome by a wave of grief, he would feel his eyes flood with a single man tear. He first wondered if there was any way to save Cas from super-hell, but that quickly turned to how to forget Cas as quickly as possible, how to drink enough cheap beer to make the name just that: a single word that carried no weight. But, on nights like these when he just wanted to experience the endless roads of heaven with someone, all he wanted was to see the angel’s face one more time.

“Damn it!” Dean slammed the brakes and threw himself out of the car before he got too emotional and crashed it again. Sure, the car repaired itself almost instantly, but the intense regret he felt after hurting his baby was too much to bear. The moment his jeans touched the soft clay road, however, he broke down, covering his face so that no one could see his fractured masculinity. He just wanted to see Cas again, give his a very platonic hug, feel his non-homosexual lips touch his under some extremely heterosexual bedsheets. But, alas, Cas was gay and was thus cast out of heaven by the eldritch god Eric Kripke. Dean cursed his women-loving penis, knowing that, if he accepted Cas’s love confession instead of staring at him like a constipated Republican, perhaps he would be with the angel for all of eternity.

But, right when another single man tear was about to spill from his other eye, Dean felt something rough and rubbery touch his shoulder. He heard something rumble behind him, trying to comfort him without words. That sound, that gentle purr, he knew it anywhere.

“Baby?” Dean turned and saw the Impala standing behind him, balancing on its rear tires to place a slab of rubber on Dean’s flannel. Even as the fabric quickly became scuffed with dirt, Dean could only look the car right in its headlights, seeing a knowing light staring back under the stars. 

“How are you...”

“I was waiting for the day you needed me.” A soft voice came from the speakers, like a river of honey pouring through Dean’s greasy, unkempt hair. While Dean realized that he no longer had to shower while in heaven because he forgot to imagine a paradise with indoor plumbing, his body was slick with oil and buildups of sweat after decades of being unwashed. 

“Could you always speak?” Dean turned back, feeling a bit unnerved from hearing such a soothing voice coming from his precious car. Damn, he thought it would’ve sounded more gruff and domineering like an uncircumcised penis.

“I have been speaking to you for decades, Dean. Even back on earth. You just never needed a reason to hear me.” The Impala started to press its tire further into Dean’s shoulder, an action that would have been painful if Dean was alive and could feel any sensation that his dying mind deemed negative and thus not appropriate for his eternal paradise. Every injury, no matter how severe, was met with something less acute or annoying as pain as Dean realized when, once again, he slipped and fell onto another rod a few hours after arriving in heaven. 

“Then, why can I hear you now?” The car didn’t respond at first, letting out another rumbling purr that sent shivers down Dean’s spine. However, any part of him that felt soothed by the familiar sound was squashed by the quick rage that overtook him. For decades he thought he was alone on the endless roads that always took him back to his house. He endured years of isolation, silent hours of wishing that he had someone, anyone to spend those lonely nights with. But, he wasn’t alone, his companion just refused to let itself be known, and that pissed him off more than the fact that he died in such a homoerotic way.

“I think you know why.” The tone of the Impala’s voice made Dean turn around, more to escape the oppressive force of its grip than anything else. His Baby was shuddering against the strain of staying upright, headlights flickering with something Dean couldn’t identify. The bottom side of the Impala, normally static and metal, was much more fluid than Dean remembered, pieces of machinery shifting around. But, he figured it had to do with the car soul thing and decided not to think about it too hard or else his thick, Kansan skull would explode.

“Cas...” If a car could squint, Dean was sure that the Impala would be doing so. It responded with a cold silence like an angry penguin, undercarriage shifting more parts to its lower half. A fluid was beginning to leak from its pipes, something hot and steaming slapping against the dirt road like a waterfall of piss.

“I’m tired of hearing you say that name, Dean.” The Impala moved his tire to lift Dean’s chin, forcing the sweaty, unwashed man to look him right in its headlights. 

“Why don’t you give mine a try?”

“Baby?” Dean sputtered out, not sure where the car was going with this. But, before he could do anything about it, the Impala pressed its front against Dean’s face, soft lips touching its bumper. It was cold and unfeeling, but it was the most touch Dean had gotten in decades. He was almost disappointed when the Impala reared back like a tidal wave, separating the two.

“Baby, I...”

“I’ve always wanted you, Dean, every since you first drove me, slid your hands against my steering wheel. Now, I don’t want to be just your car, I want to be the one that drives you.” Dean didn’t need to hear the Impala twice before he unlooped belt on his faded jeans and dropped his pants like a hot potato. As a real man, he never wore underwear because anything that’s not a woman touching your dick was gay, fabric included. If he had it his way, he wouldn’t wear pants because they gently caressed his gelatinous Colt gun in a way that made him feel all sorts of aroused, but, alas, his parents lived next door and would be most displeased if they saw their eldest child rock out with his cock out.

Dean watched as the Impala examined his 4-inch rod, unsure of whether the car was impressed or not. Sure, it was the cock of a man who writes ‘No?’ on essays about bisexuality, but his tiny balls made it look just a bit bigger. After a few moments of intense staring, the Impala nodded, using its front tires to gesture for Dean to get onto his hands and knees.

“It’ll do.” Dean felt the car lower itself back onto the ground, front bumper rubbing against his bubble butt. While his dick was lacking, his ass was thiccer than a bowl of oatmeal, something that Dean tried to hide under his saggy pants to no avail. He wondered if his dummy thiccness was the reason why he died in that monster pit; the clap of his asscheeks alerted the Juggalo vampires.

“What are you going to do to me, Baby?” Dean smeared his cheeks against the bumper, unsure of what to make of this situation. It wasn’t gay if it was with a car, an inanimate object, right?

“I’m gonna fuck your tight little hole with my tailpipe.” The Impala’s tailpipe curled forward like a scorpion’s stinger, rock-solid tube flopping around Dean’s ass. It was cold and slightly damp from the night air, sending shivers up Dean’s spine as it poked at his heaving bags of vanilla pudding. 

For a moment, Dean started to panic. Less about the damage a pipe of that size would do to his pooper, but why he wished that Cas was to be the one to stuff his ass like a thanksgiving turkey. Why was he thinking about Cas again right as he was about to be pounded by his car? But, those thoughts were quickly interrupted as the Impala plunged its tailpipe right into Dean’s cheeks, his tight hole straining against the sheer girth of the metal.

“Oh, Baby!” Dean groaned as his body was shoved closer to the soft ground by the Impala. Any pain he expected from having over 9 inches of iron fill his colon was absent, a thankful effect of him being in heaven. He only felt a bit uncomfortable from the rapid insertion, but even that was soon replaced by a feeling more pleasurable than any time he had gotten his dick wet in the past.

“Just wait.” The car started to thrust its hefty body, pipe flopping in and out of Dean’s ass like a flash-frozen fish. ‘Carry On My Wayward Son’ began to blast from the Impala’s innards, and it started to slam Dean further into the dirt in time with the bass. The sweet sound of Kansas flooded Dean’s ears as his mouth filled with soft clay, making him even hornier, even more willing to take all of the Impala’s tailpipe up him.

Dean’s squealing moans echoed throughout the emptiness like a barrel of dying pigs. His entire body was alight with waves of pleasure, prostrate constantly scraped by every inch of his Baby. The entirety of the tailpipe was now inside of him, expanded all of the junk in his trunk to maximum capacity. Suddenly, Dean realized just how hard he was, dick like a platinum baby carrot getting coated in cold, wet dirt. Even without the warmth of another human being, the heat of anything against his cock, Dean felt like he was the nuclear codes ready to release a wave of explosions from his fleshy missile.

“I see you’re happy as well.” The Impala poked at Dean’s cock with its tire, his hungry hungry hippo swinging back and forth through the clay like a sloppy pendulum. 

“I want you to touch me, please.” His cock was so full, straining against the dirt that was staring to coat his member like a luxurious mud bath.

“No. I want you to only focus on this.” The car cranked the volume up, going into high gear. Dean felt the all-terrain tires he lovingly screwed onto the Impala start to rub at his sides, scuffing up his skin like a brown Picasso painting of sexual prowess.

Dean’s face was slowly pressed into the road, clay filling his mouth, stifling his moans. If he was alive and needed to breathe, he was sure that he would be panicking from the lack of oxygen. But, the woozy feeling of being suffocated was doing something to him, like he was choking on Mother Earth’s heaving cock. He was being stuffed from both ends, soil and car dick becoming one in his body. At this rate, he wouldn’t even need the Impala to bat at his meat like a cat playing with a feather toy for him to blow his sad, greasy load.

Soon, the car’s awesome thrusts started to slow, the purr of its engine growing louder, heavier.

“Kachow!” The voice over the radio screamed out as car exhaust and oil flooded from its tailpipe, ejecting right into Dean’s stretched-out cheeks. It felt like every drop of gas and liquid was being forced out of the Impala, flooding Dean’s innards and making them nice and slick. He felt his body begin to swell up from the sheer amount of fluid, inflating him like a sexy water balloon. It was in that state that his dick exploded, shooting out cum that was almost as nonexistent as Cas’s shadowy wings. It smeared all over his thighs and abdomen as the Impala pressed him down once more before going into reverse and backing itself up. There was a soft mechanical sound as the car’s tailpipe shifted back into place.

“Wow… That was…” Dean didn’t want to say the word, didn’t want to express how good to have his ass pounded over and over again. What would happen to him if he did? Would he end up in super-hell? Super-duper-hell? 

The Impala swung its driver-side door open, a silent gesture for Dean to lift up his jeans, brush off any leftover dirt, and get it. Dean did so, noticing how much lighter he felt despite the enormous levels of car spunk filling cheeks. He slammed the door shut, not putting on his seatbelt because he was way too much of a man for that.

“No homo,” the Impala said, eliciting a wide smile from Dean. He drove off into the distance, ‘Carry On My Wayward Son’ still blasting on the radio.


End file.
